


For Still Here I Be

by alotofmillion



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Disney - All Media Types, Disney Princesses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, can you believe I've been obsessed with this movie since March, with a side of adam angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofmillion/pseuds/alotofmillion
Summary: Less than three years had passed since Adam had met his only love and his curse had been broken, yet cold windows cracked with ice and frost still put him at unrest. As if the cold grip of winter might swallow him whole and throw him back into the pits of eternal damnation. As if this was somehow all a very hyper realized fantasy.





	For Still Here I Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic within the BatB fandom, and certainly my first fic in a very long time. Still trying to get the voices down for Adam and Belle. Your feedback is immensely wonderful. I'm obsessed with the concept of them as parents. Hopefully I can hatch more ideas as time goes on.

It was an unusually wintry night in late March, blanketed by a brisk chill and a light dusting of snow brushed along the palace grounds. The sky howled.

Less than three years had passed since Adam had met his only love and his curse had been broken, yet cold windows cracked with ice and frost still put him at unrest. As if the cold grip of winter might swallow him whole and throw him back into the pits of eternal damnation. As if this was somehow all a very hyper realized fantasy.

In Adam’s day, no name could be appointed to post-traumatic stress. To proclaim mental illness -- insanity, madness -- was to be shackled and thrown into the asylum wagon, even for men of titles and distant royals of his statute. With the passage of years, his dreams -- nightmares -- began to subside. No longer did he hold his breath even in the darkest coves of the castle, in fear of catching a phantom remnant of his beastly self.

The upside to such sharp winds and unsightly weather was the cancellation of his convoy to Versailles, a summit with court he’d been dreading, and had been actively pursuing to avoid. It wasn’t long after he had come back to existence that the letters had come pouring in from dignitaries of foreign, faraway lands, seeking explanation for his long absence.

How times had changed. Though a lecherous courtesan in his younger years, Adam preferred the warm hearth and regularity of Palais de Villeneuve. Despite his nearly decade-long absence, his unexpected occupation with a common girl drew most of the whispers. In tandem with his newfound empathy among the commoners, and he was every bit the outsider he was with claws and fur.

At least then, he was erased from the minds of higher society and not a topic for ridicule or condescending tuts of disapproval. Not that he truly paid them any mind, but it was all a great annoyance to be called to court. As if anyone truly valued his opinion, or shared his priorities, or had any matter of modesty in their littlest finger.

No, he certainly wouldn’t be making an appearance. Especially not in Belle’s condition.

Adam hunched over his writing desk not far from the bedpost, quill in hand as he penned a passing justification for his absence, enough to appease the monarch; some distant cousin even he could barely trace. Normally Adam reserved letters of correspondence to his business quarters, not wishing to meddle the banal idiosyncrasies of business with the warmth of all that was personal. But he was tired and had every intention to retire to bed, where his wife was currently fast asleep.

Or so he thought, at least, as two arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders from behind, pulling him in with a familiar intimacy. Adam snuffed sharply before eventually breathing slower with recognition, biting his lip with a smile as Belle’s fingers pulled at the blue ribbon keeping his hair intact.

“Adam,” Belle murmured at the tips of his ears, sending a thrill up his spine even after so long. Her fingernails gently scratched the back of his neck. “I can hear your thoughts from here. Put this to bed and come lie with your very elephant-shaped wife.”

He closed his eyes as her deft fingers ran through his hair, the slow glide of her nails the closest thing to heaven. “You… are the furthest thing from an elephant, my darling. As for my thoughts -- God, himself, could not move me from this estate, let alone your presence.”

As if to exemplify his intent, he lifted the paper to show his wife, the parchment just at the tips of his fingers. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d consulted Belle in matters of business. “Shall this suffice?”

Belle clasped it, reading swiftly through his fine penmanship. “Yes.” Her fingers grazed absentmindedly over her middle as she tipped it back toward him. “Though you really mustn’t apologize, Adam. You haven’t slighted anyone in the least.”

Adam’s smile was dispelled and replaced by a sigh, but his gaze was warm as he took back the letter. “Quite right, my dear.” He would pass it along to Cogsworth to fold and wax and post, but in the meantime, his bones and his mind were tired.

He turned slightly in his chair, the limber creaking with age. He cast his gaze to her middle; their first born, and an absolutely enchanting thing at that. They were just shy of eleven months wed when they’d made the announcement, and while they hadn’t intended to have children quite so soon, 18th century contraceptives were… less than remarkable, to say the least.

They weren’t inclined to chance fate with magical intervention, either.

In nearly her seventh month, Belle epitomized the definition of her name, her cheeks pink and soft and chestnut hair down and past her shoulders, wavy and thick. She was petite, as she usually was, her condition often scarcely evident in the cuts and fashion of the day. She was quite insistent on loose stays, if any at all. Even in her soft, off white chemise, the slope of her abdomen was modestly evident, even as Adam’s fingers brushed past the fine linen.

“Perhaps I should ring Mrs. Potts to bring us a warming pan. It’s a cold one.” Belle smiled, catching his fingers with the crook of her thumb, giving him the slightest tug.

Adam groaned, earning a soft tut from his knowing wife, who continued to tug until he relented up to his feet.

“Don’t you dare incite the name of dear Mrs. Potts with that sort of look on your face, wife.” He swayed nearer, his gaze as intense as ever as he brushed the tip of his thumb to the corner of Belle’s lips, following through with a kiss; raw and slightly rough around the edges, but warm and sensual and so blissfully familiar.

She sighed slowly into it, clamoring toward him and tugging him nearer by the corners of his banyan, stretching the silk fabric between her fingers as she found her footing to the bed. But before she could make the descent, she patted Adam’s cheek and shrugged herself back.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, husband,” she responded dryly, before studying his chin rather closely. “Now then, do you intend to take me to bed in your robe de chambre? I think we can manage to keep each other warm certainement?”

Adam’s smile was suddenly as bright as the sun, a brisk laugh wiggling loose from his throat as he squeezed at Belle’s waist with the tips of his fingers. With a wiggle, he began to shrug the nightgown past his shoulders, a heady relief flooding through him as Belle pulled them down the rest of the way, until the draping fabric fell to his feet unceremoniously.

“So I see, you saucy minx. Perhaps I’ve underestimated the vulgar whimsies of your condition.” He grinned, clasping her palm to dot kisses from the center of her hand and down her palm.

Belle scoffed as she peeled on to the bed, taking her prince with her by the pull of his fine cotton shirt. “To think someone’s vulgar whimsies led to my condition in the first place.” Her neck craned to meet his lips as he carefully straddled himself over her hips.

He laughed, eyes watching her fondly as he met her more than half-way for that kiss. “Two paths converge into the same road, my darling. I can’t recall it being a solo affair, or any complaints.” He sank further into that kiss, mindful of the distance between the highest point of Belle’s abdomen and the tip of his chest. Though height was on his side, Adam was doting to a fault; if not suffocating.

Belle simply hummed with recognition. “No, I’m fairly certain that would be impossible, magic or no ma… ah!” Her breath caught in her throat, her eyelashes fluttering as she reached for her husband’s palm.

Adam’s eyes widened with grave concern, squeezing at her fingertips. “Darling...?” His brow stitched, his eyes only darting to Belle’s middle as her hand pressed to the swell of her abdomen. This did not appease Adam’s concerns. “Belle… what is it?”

But rather than panic, a laugh bubbled out of her. She swayed toward him, forehead falling against his, her thumb softly petting her husband’s knuckles. “No, no. Don’t worry. It’s… it’s our son, my love. I believe he recognizes your voice.”

Adam’s shoulders fell with relief, his laugh flooding into Belle’s mouth as he closed the distance for a kiss. She swayed back slightly to meet his gaze as her palm closed over his hand.

“Our son, is it?” He asked softly, nose pinched with amusement and curiosity. Given his long tenure as that unspeakable creature, he no longer questioned mystics or magic. Perhaps the same magic flowed through his son… or, daughter; however it may pan out.

Good god, he hoped not.

As she leaned back on her arm, she looked back up with a spark of amusement, crinkling her nose right back. “Call it mother’s intuition? Or his distaste for Romeo and Juliet, given how our readings have panned out. The apple can’t have fallen far from the tree.”

Adam couldn’t suppress a stray chuckle as he narrowed himself between Belle’s legs, head resting just above her abdomen. He placed a chaste kiss and glanced back up, staring besottedly through his eyelashes. “Does it… does it hurt much? When it? Err, they...? He?”

Belle leaned back against the lush pillows as she smiled down at her husband, her fingers carding delicately through his long, blonde locks, which nearly shielded his face in lieu of the ribbon she had just pulled away. “No, not always. Though cramped is certainly a word which comes to mind. To think the physician finds me small.”

He turned his head to press chaste lips to her abdomen once more, only a tad exasperated. “Darling, you are small, but full of health. And as I’ve said, I will gladly supply the finest of belgian truffles or german chocolates at your beck and call, should you or le bébé desire.”

“And I’ll continue to deliberate on that one,” Belle replied almost primly.

They both laughed, though Adam grew quiet first. An apology was on the tip of his lips for all that Belle was sacrificing, and had sacrificed already, for their child -- but the truth is, he’d never apologize for the greatest gift in the world. Nor would Belle tolerate it.

Still, he could not have imagined this sort of fate in all of his days of exile, trapped inside the flesh and fur and marrow of a hideous monster. Forgotten by the world, and for all good reason.

_“Come wake me up, for still here I be_ ,” Belle had once said, so trusting and inexplicably taken by his horrid, monstrous form. His darling, spirited, stubborn, and utterly phenomenal wife, who still traipsed around the palace in blue dresses and braids, a book pinned to the tip of her nose.

“Come back to me?” She asked softly, the soft stroke of her nails running exquisite lines through his hair. Again. God, he did love that.

He snuffled once more and glanced up, giving her somewhat sheepish smile. A comfortable silence filled the room, Adam far less distant and lost in his own head.

“I’d quite like a girl, I think,” he murmured delicately as he pulled back. “Girls have always fared better in my life. And if she’s anything like her mother, or so much as a slip of my own…”

Belle could see where this tangent was going and reached for his fingers. “Adam,” she interjected, earning a slight quirk of his brow. “With the exception of my father, you are the most magnificent man I’ve ever met -- and certainly one of the very kindest. Assuming you've had your supper, of course.”

Adam rolled his eyes and snuffed with self-deprecation. Belle smiled knowingly. “Oh, alright,” he murmured as she pressed the heels of her palms to the bed to slowly ease herself up.

As Adam sat up beside her, he supported her weight against his shoulder as she gravitated against him, hands inevitably finding each other. All was calm and warm and placid.

“Whomever our child may be, or whomever they will become in this world… they will never know anything but love and commitment and -- acceptance. From everyone in this household, including you. Especially you,” she continued, her voice at a murmur, as if there was any cause to be silent. “You will be the most wonderful father, my love.”

Adam was silent as he drank in her words, the tips of his ears pink with a soft modesty. “And you will be the most sensational mother.” He smiled, head tilting to brush hers. Belle met him halfway, their noses touching, before they closed the distance with a kiss. He sighed deeply, so very grateful, fingers nearly trembling as he pressed them to her cheek to ease her nearer.

Even as they broke apart, he couldn’t keep his lips away. He maneuvered her mane of hair away to press a kiss to the base of her neck and down her shoulder, through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Belle sighed thickly. Her eyes were heavy, the nature of her condition taxing at any hour of the day, but even moreso by that point in the evening.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she mumbled, peeling her shoulder back to inch only slightly away. She grabbed for an extra pillow and pushed it behind her back out of both necessity and comfort.

“Whatever for?” Adam asked, earnestly surprised, if not a bit dazed from being swept up by his wife’s intoxicatingly beautiful neckline.

Belle just gave him a knowing look as her toes inched below the covers. She twisted and turned until she settled on the most comfortable position. “You are beautiful, and so very tempting all the hours of the day, but I’m afraid I’m no good for anything tonight.” She closed her eyes, swallowed back with defeat. “Rather ambitiously, I was on my hands and knees in the garden again--”

“Again? Oh, Belle. You know the groundskeepers are more than capable of--”

“Planting primrose, if you must know. Delightful blue ones. They flourish in England, you know.” She reached out blindly for one of his hands, locking their fingers together.

Adam laughed softly and shook his head, a low rumble at the bottom of his chest that was just shy of aristocratic. So long as Belle could still mount herself off the ground, he supposed he had no real reason to worry. The weather hadn't been as severe earlier. There was no threat of catching a cold.

“My stubborn girl. I should be relieved you stuck to only planting flowers."  _And not the piled up blueprints scattered throughout every conceivable surface in the library_ , he thought to himself. 

He reached to the bedside table to pick up a book, a rich, deep leather bound edition of _Comedies, Histories and Tragedies_ , one of many books his mother had brought from England. The pages were soft and thin, almost crackly as he delicately stretched the binding to the satin ribbon two-quarters of the way in.

Belle delighted in the sound, as comforting as the clop of Phillipe’s hooves on their rides through the grounds (before she was with child, of course). Even with her eyes closed, the melody of a book, even in its pages, was unmistakable.

“There’s enough wick left to read aloud. If you’ll indulge me?” She asked softly, eyes opening to meet his. Adam squeezed her palm, closing the distance between them by a few inches. He readily indulged. The grips of sleep itched evermore inside of him, too, and he could, at long last, fully rest in the safety and the security of what he’d long accepted as reality.

_“Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love. And thou, thrice-crownèd queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway.”_

The wind howled and toiled, rattling the glass windows of their home. Neither Adam or Belle seemed to notice.


End file.
